The Sheikh's Destiny (Harlequin Romance) (15 page)

Yes, their souls were entwined, and as far as she was concerned they always would be; but how could she believe this was anything but a lovely fantasy, a romantic idyll she'd treasure when she left him? When they reached Abbas al-Din, everything would change. She'd have family responsibilities again, and Alim would discover he
was
a sheikh, his country needed him—and he'd need a woman who could be a helpmate, a queen in every sense. And when that happened she'd let him go with a smile, doing her best not to show her life was over.

But for now he was Alim, the man whose soul was inextricably part of hers, who'd quietly reached inside her and taken her heart before she'd known it was gone. So she smiled back and murmured, ‘Yes,' not wanting the dream to end. Not yet.

He moved his cheek against hers. ‘One day you'll believe in us, my star,' he murmured in her ear, making her shiver. ‘Maybe when we're married ten years and have seven children.'

Uncomfortable with his perception, how finely tuned he was to her emotions, she laughed. ‘Hey, you want seven kids, you can give birth to them. I sure won't be going past four.'

He chuckled, and kissed her cheek. ‘Four it is, then…so long as at least one of them is a cheeky girl who shows the boys how to not take themselves so seriously.' When she didn't answer—her throat had seized up with longing and useless dreams—he checked his watch, and made a smothered exclamation. ‘We need to head to the airstrip.' Turning quickly, still holding her hand, he led her back towards the house.

When they arrived everything was already packed and in the sleek limousine—and the beautifully attired driver winced when Alim opened the door for her. ‘I'm too messy,' she protested, reluctant to enter this gorgeous vehicle in
rolled-up trousers and vest top, with bare, sandy feet and mussed hair. ‘Is there a garden hose here? I can wash it off, and not dirty the car.'

‘No need for that.' Alim frowned at the driver, who immediately apologised gravely for any embarrassment he'd caused her, and offered to fetch her a towel, which made her feel worse. She whispered, almost squirming, ‘He shouldn't have to clean up after me. It's not right. It isn't as if I'm anyone important.' With a lowered gaze she walked to Alim's front garden and turned on the tap, washing off the sand.

‘See what I mean?' Alim's laughing, rueful voice sounded right behind her, and she started, turning to him. ‘You teach me by example to not be so arrogant.' He shoved his feet beneath the water, rinsing off and turning the tap off.

‘It's your car, you can do as you want,' she mumbled, feeling her blush grow.

‘Yes, I can, and I would have, but for you.' He lifted her hand to his cheek, cradling it, and she forgot all about the watching chauffeur, his minders, the state of her hair or anything else. ‘You consider everyone. It's something I've never had to do. Our parents trained us to treat all people as equals, and our position means we serve the people, but some lessons need a brush-up.' He kissed her palm.

Even as her eyes grew heavy and her body swayed towards him everything they'd been through suddenly overwhelmed her, and she needed—needed him. ‘Alim,' she whispered.

He saw it; his eyes darkened. ‘I'm all yours once we're in the car, Sahar Thurayya.'

Without thinking she turned and bolted for the limousine, and hopped in without waiting for the driver to hand her in. When Alim joined her, she barely waited for the door to close before she threw herself into his arms. ‘Hold me,' she whispered.

The limousine took off smoothly, and the passion in his
eyes gentled as he drew her closer, up into his lap. He held her close for a long time. ‘It's been a hard time for you.'

She nodded into his shoulder. ‘I thought you were going to die when they took you—and then you come to me, but covered in bruises. They hurt you for my sake, Abbas al-Din loses millions to save me because you sacrificed yourself for me…and then, then you give me back my family, my freedom…' She hiccupped.

‘Give me a chance; I'll be everything you ever want or need, my star,' he murmured into her hair. ‘I can even give you a happily ever after—but not with a prince. A simple sheikh will have to do for you.'

Simple?
In a top-of-the-line limousine, about to board a first-class jet? She choked back a giggle. ‘Just call me Cinderella? I'm more like the little matchstick girl.'

Alim tipped up her face, his eyes full of tenderness at her deliberate roughening of her voice. ‘Do you see your ending as tragic as hers was? Need it be?'

All her smart cracks withered under the tender fire of his questions. He saw too much. ‘Maybe not tragic,' she conceded, ‘I just don't see the whole palace-and-prince/sheikh thing. It was never part of my dreams.'

He stilled, and she felt the question without his asking. ‘I dreamed of a man who came home to me at night, played chess or Scrabble or backgammon, and held me as we watched the news, and played with the kids and occasionally brought home dinner when I was tired,' she said quietly. ‘All I ever wanted was an average guy who could accept me as I am.'

‘You can have all that,' he replied, just as quiet, caressing her shoulder. ‘I've never tried to change you, Hana, only circumstances around you, for your sake.' He lifted her chin, and kissed her lips. ‘I'd move mountains if it would make you happy.'

‘You already have,' she whispered. That was what made it
so hard. How could she have all her dreams come true in a man whose life gave her nightmares? ‘But average? It's something you can never be.'
In any way,
she thought, sadness piercing her.

‘I can. I have been for the past three years, Hana.' He caressed her hair, and love swamped her. ‘If Harun is happy to continue as the sheikh, we can return here and—' He frowned as she shook her head. ‘I realise that now the world knows where I've been it'll be harder, but we could find another area that needs our combined skills.'

‘It's useless,' she said sadly. ‘You know it, Alim. People will know you…and they'll sell your whereabouts for money. I can't blame them for that—but your life would become a circus. Face it, you had one shot at disappearing, and you did it well—but it'll never work again.'

‘Then we start our own aid programme, and run it as ourselves. I'm a multimillionaire in my own right, from my racing days. We can live comfortably enough even if I gave ninety per cent of it away.' Then, as she sighed and shook her head again, he said, ‘Don't tell me you don't love me, Hana. I know you do.'

Unutterably weary, she climbed off his lap. ‘I haven't had one good night's sleep in two weeks, Alim. I'm tired, I feel numb and scared and in about two hours I have to face my family, the family I still don't know how to forgive, and you're asking me to change my life for you.'

Alim stilled. ‘Actually, it's me constantly offering to change my life for you,' he said harshly. ‘You don't seem willing to give an inch. I guess that shows what I mean to you beyond desire. I guess it shows what those three words last night were worth to you. Was it anything more than a nice goodbye to you, Hana? Is what you feel just not worth the fight?'

Shame heated her cheeks. ‘We're at the airstrip,' she mumbled.

He climbed out of the car, and handed her out with grave courtesy, as if she were a dignitary instead of an aid nurse with bare feet and sand in her trousers. They walked up the red carpet and into the jet, a barefoot sheikh and his Raggedy Ann saviour, in silence.

A
LIM
watched in grim empathy as Hana grew paler, her fingers twitching more with every movement of the jet towards Abbas al-Din.

He'd forced her into this, and now he was facing the consequences in her silent misery. As she'd told him, she wasn't ready to face a family pitifully eager to ask forgiveness, to make amends for the five years of unbearable loneliness and pain they'd caused her.

How could they possibly make amends? Even if Hana found forgiveness for them in her heart, how could she ever trust them again?

Then he noticed his own foot was tapping against the ground. He had to wonder if Harun could ever trust him again, either. He'd let his brother down as badly as Hana's family had done to her. He'd even, by his desertion, forced Harun to marry a woman he, Alim, hadn't been able to face as his wife. Harun had found no happiness with Amber, and that was Alim's fault, too.

God help them both, this surely had to be a worse homecoming than the fabled prodigal son ever endured.

When a servant brought their bags with changes of clothing and shoes, Hana thanked the woman gravely and then walked
into the gold-fitted bathroom without a word to him. She emerged in a beautiful ankle-length skirt the shade of sunrise, and a creamy long-sleeved shirt embroidered with tiny beads that shimmered as she walked. Plain sandals adorned her feet. Her hair was braided back. She wore no jewellery or make-up. She took his breath away.

She didn't look at him as she sat, put her seat belt back on, and her hands and feet began twitching again. He came back from his change in the gold-and-scarlet attire expected—

Of what? A prodigal brother, a runaway sheikh?

She flicked a glanced at him, and her eyes slid down to her clothes, so simple and modest.

He felt the distance growing between them without a word spoken.

I'm still Alim,
he wanted to shout;
look at me, touch me, I still breathe and hurt.
He'd thought her the one person who could look beyond appearances, and see him.

It seemed he'd never been more wrong.

 

As the jet began its descent Hana struggled not to throw up. The duality of love and betrayal, longing and anger tore her heart into shreds.

A hand touched hers, stilling the tremors. ‘It'll be okay, Hana.'

Glad of an excuse to relieve hours of bottled-up anguish, she turned on him. ‘Are you telling that to me, or yourself? Look to your own reunion with your brother and the wife that should have been yours, because you know nothing of how I'm feeling right now!'

He turned his face away. ‘How can I know what you keep locked away from me? Your heart is like a tap that keeps switching from hot to cold, burning and freezing me.'

Her head, already buzzing, felt as if a swarm of bees inhabited it, but she sat straight and proud in her seat. She had
enough to think about without letting the shame in. He'd saved her life, made this reunion possible, had erased Mukhtar from her life, and—

‘I'm just trying to make the farewell easier,' she whispered so soft he wouldn't hear, wanting to lay her arms on the flight table, her forehead on her arms; but then he'd know how weak and needing she was, how she longed for his comfort.

And that would wrinkle his silken magnificence.

Too soon, the jet made its descent, landing, and then they walked along another red carpet into another limousine—Alim must have asked for no welcoming party, for which she was grateful—and the whisper-quiet saloon purred towards the palace.

As they drove through the streets Hana shrank further down into the seat. No one seemed to know Alim was back; there was no fanfare, no cheering crowds, yet still she felt like a miserable fraud.

A whisper close to her ear, ‘The truck cost twice as much as this car. It was a top-of-the-line Mercedes. You didn't seem uncomfortable in that.'

She turned to him in wonder. ‘It looked all beaten up.'

His brows lifted. ‘Drawing attention to myself wasn't the point. Staying safe in a strong ride was the sole reason I bought it. I enjoyed taking off all the strips that showed its maker, and making it look so old. Taking a hammer to the panels and scratching the duco to—what was it? Billy-o?—was really fun.'

Her mouth twitched.

‘I suppose there are hammers and chisels, and sandpaper, somewhere at home,' he mused. ‘I'll have to check out the cellars, or ask the carpenter.'

She frowned, tilting her head in wordless question.

He shrugged. ‘If you're only going to be comfortable with
who I am if you only see me as a normal man when my ride looks broken down, and I'm covered in mud and bruises, I'll have to make the arrangements.'

The coolness in the words made her flush. ‘You make me sound like a snob.'

Another half-shrug. ‘It isn't me doing the judging, is it? It isn't me not giving you a chance, or saying you're not good enough.'

She gasped. ‘I never said you weren't good enough!'

‘No, you said
you
weren't. You judge yourself—but you
have
judged me. You tell me what I need in my life when I don't even know what my future's going to be yet.'

Hana blinked, opened her mouth and closed it. He'd dissected her again—but once more, he was right. Innate honesty demanded she stop arguing, so she turned and looked out again—and saw people pointing at the crest on the doors of the saloon, speculating…waving…

‘I've got a present for you.'

Startled, she turned to him. She said, hard and flat, ‘I don't want it.'

A tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth. ‘Don't judge my gift before you see it.' He handed her a gorgeously wrapped box, tied with a golden ribbon. ‘Just open it, Hana, before you judge me or what I've given.'

Shamed by the reminder, she kept her eyes on the box as she untied the ribbon and opened it—and burst into startled laughter. Inside the intricately crafted sandalwood box lay a card saying ‘Hana's Emergency Escape Kit.' Beneath that were a few dozen energy bars, four canteens…and two little dropper bottles of lavender.

She looked up at him, still laughing. ‘Um, thank you?'

He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers. ‘I accept that some time soon you're going to want to run, my star. But as the song says, if you leave me, can I come too?'

Huskily, knowing it was a pipe dream, she murmured, ‘I'd like that.'

‘We're going to be okay, Sahar Thurayya.' He kissed her again. ‘Souls entwined bring us greater strength than one alone.'

The shining happiness in his eyes lodged her breath in her throat. She touched his hand. ‘Thank you. Thank you for accepting me as I am.'

Then she saw they'd already swept through the two sets of ornate, protective gates, and were at the private rear entrance of the palace.

Suddenly she understood what he'd done for her. He'd taken her mind from her family just when she couldn't stand
thinking
about them any more. He'd planned the gift before she'd even agreed to come, knowing she'd need her mind turned from the turmoil within.

‘Thank you for distracting me,' she murmured, her stomach filled with bats without sonar, crashing around inside her; but she turned to him and, before she could chicken out, leaned into him and kissed his mouth. ‘You're a truly good man, Alim El-Kanar.'

His eyes, dark with emotion as she kissed him, turned bleak. ‘I wish I could believe that.' The moment the car stopped he was out, not waiting for a servant to open it and hand him out as custom demanded. He waved the servant away, and turned to help her. ‘Your family's waiting inside, in an antechamber to the left.'

Her legs turned to jelly and she wanted to throw up. She clung to his hand, just trying to breathe. ‘Come with me. Please,' she whispered.

He led her up the wide marble stairs and through the gold-lined oak doors. ‘I can't stay beyond introductions. Unfortunately, I have my own ghosts to face.' Swiftly his mouth brushed hers. ‘We'll survive this, Hana. We can meet for
recon after.' He showed her to the wide double doors where her family waited, and led her inside.

Five people on luxurious woven settees jumped to their feet the moment the doors opened. Five people dressed in their best, either for her or to impress Alim, she didn't know. People who'd once meant the world to her—and her heart jerked, as if telling her what she wanted to forget: they still meant so much…too much.

‘Hana,' her mother murmured, voice cracking with emotion. Her plump, comfortable frame had lessened; her face was lined, her eyes weary and filled with tears. A hand reached out to Hana, and hovered there, as if asking a question her mouth couldn't ask.

‘Hello, Mum,' she greeted her mother in stilted English, bowing her head. The word fell from her lips, rusted with disuse. She kept her hands by her sides: keeping a distance for the sake of safety. The last time she'd seen her mother, she'd been wringing her hands and asking why,
why
hadn't she come to her mother and
said
she wanted Mukhtar instead of Latif…

She couldn't look at her father—then she couldn't
not
look at him. A flicked glance—enough to see the painful guilt and eagerness to make amends—and she looked away. ‘Amal and Malik Al-Sud, this is…' Now her uncertain gaze swung to Alim, taking in the utter opulence of the white-and-gold room as she turned. How did she introduce him?

‘Alim El-Kanar,' Alim went on so smoothly it was as if he were on the other side of a mirror from her, able to finish her sentences. He moved forward, hand extended to her father. ‘I'm very pleased to meet you. You've raised a daughter of amazing strength and courage.'

After the men gripped hands to the elbow, a custom of respect here, and Alim bowed to her mother, there was an awkward moment. ‘Hana,' her mother said again, taking a step forward.

Hana closed her eyes, shook her head. She didn't want contact.
Who sees how alone you are in your strength?
She'd given her time, strength and self away, but no one but Alim had held her, comforted her in years; she'd been alone.

A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and strong. Alim. ‘Were you given coffee?' he asked, giving her time, space from the emotion.

She wanted to rest back against him, to lay her hand over his and thank him for again coming to her rescue. How well he knew her, even when she'd done her best to lock him out—and she knew then that his accusation in the jet had been a hollow drum, a distraction for her sake: her heart was laid bare for him to see.

‘Yes, thank you, my lord.' Her father's voice, the first words of his she'd heard since that fateful night.
You will marry Mukhtar, Hana, for your sister's sake. It's not Fatima's fault you couldn't control your passions!

‘I can't do this. I—I have to—' Hana whirled for the door.

‘Hana, don't go. Please. We love you. We've missed you so much.'

Fatima's voice, choked up. Hana stopped as if frozen in place. Slowly, her hands curled into fists. ‘At least you all had each other.' Flat words, locking her sister out; she had no alternative unless she wanted to cry like a baby. ‘I hope you had a lovely wedding, Fatima. Better than mine was…or so I hear mine was. I missed the party.' She turned, looked at her father for a moment, saw the anguish. ‘Perhaps we can have a family celebration of the annulment. I'd really like to be there to celebrate one major event in my life.'

Another stretch of silence that felt like dead calm water after a long storm, and she felt their pain as clearly as her own, and she tried to strengthen herself, to harden her heart. She felt close to breaking…

‘You're thinner.' Her mother's voice quivered.

Still she couldn't turn around, or look at them. ‘Rather hard to get enough to eat at times,' she said, light and shadow together. ‘You either toughen up or fall apart in the Sahel.'

‘You served in the Sahel,' Fatima said, her voice faint. ‘It's the most dangerous place on earth…'

Hana shrugged. ‘As I said, you get tough when just finding enough to eat each day is the greatest challenge facing you. It makes other problems, like being forced into marriage with a drug runner, seem…insignificant.'

‘Excuse me, please. I have to meet my brother,' Alim said quietly, and left the massive room, closing the doors behind him.

Hana watched him go, and hated him for leaving her here with these people…her family, half strangers now, just people she'd once known.

‘You saved his life,' her brother Khalid muttered, shaking his head. ‘My little sister saved our sheikh and brought him back to his people.'

She shrugged, and didn't answer. In this place, talking about Alim seemed too hard.

‘You are being touted as a national heroine,' her mother said, shaky, emotional. Again her hand lifted, reached out to her.

Hana stepped back, aching, angry. ‘That'll only last until the media finds out about Mukhtar. Then I'll be a national disgrace, won't I? Will you disown me then, too?'

‘Hana, please.' Her father spoke, his voice pleading. ‘I know what I've done to you. When Mukhtar was arrested, and we knew you spoke the truth, I looked for you—'

‘Oh, only then?' she asked lightly. ‘You didn't try to find me before, force me back to my lawful master to spare you all any more family embarrassment? How long did it take you to work out that I didn't lie to you, that I couldn't possibly have slept with my fiancé's brother?'

Her oldest sister Tanihah said quietly, ‘Hana, it's over now, we know the woman you are. Now you're back with us, where you belong. Can't we move past this?'

‘I belong nowhere.' Hana shook her head.
Just don't cry, don't cry…
‘There's nowhere to move to. You can't possibly understand what it's like to live as I have the past five years.' Always running, terrified of being forced into Mukhtar's bed—‘The damage is done, Tanihah.' Saying her sister's name—they'd once been so close—broke her. ‘I have to go.'